


Snapshots - Before, first, and last

by giveherswords



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: F/M, Flashbacks, Gideon fucks God, Is it a threesome if two of you are sharing a body?, M/M, Oh she's mad, Poor baby stuck in someone else's body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:41:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29408520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giveherswords/pseuds/giveherswords
Summary: (Prequel to Battle Lust -separate post)Part 1. Snapshots of Pyrrha's memories from the moment of death to thousands of years laterPart 2. Pyrrha learns the extent of her control over G1deons bodyPart 3. One night, she rises to the surface to find G1deon and God in a compromising position. She is forced to make a choice.
Relationships: Gideon the First & John Gaius | Necrolord Prime, Gideon the First / John Gaius | Necrolord Prime / Pyrrha Dve, Pyrrha Dve & Gideon the First (Locked Tomb Trilogy)
Kudos: 5
Collections: TLT Kink Meme





	1. Before

As I am put to sleep, my mouth fills with grit from your mind. I expect to choke on the silt but instead it slides in and out, and I am, impossibly, breathing. Before, I’d dreamt of inhaling underwater and this is what it felt like: panic, then acceptance, then a cool elation.

Now that I am already dead, yet not dying, all I feel is anger. I am doing a thing I never thought I could do, and in doing so have been cheated of bliss.

Back in your body, you do not realize I am alive inside you. Your hands are on your torso, fingers searching for something. You are loosening the flesh from its casing, slipping around where I’ve been welcomed into your grief. I watch, more than feel, you strip a thin layer of flesh from your chest as you cry out and fall to your knees.

“Gideon,” God says, “We are going to need you conscious for this.”

“But Pyrrha.”

“She’s already gone,” God responds.

I am not, and so I catch a brief glimpse of my corpse. The cooling husk of my former body is being quickly dragged away, saving you from your own dead eyes. I know because I looked and noticed, and what I actually saw was worse.

All these weird reflections, like the lens of my eyes were dirty or busted. Then I realized I was just seeing your eyes. The murky brown of your irises obscenely boring, staring out at us from my stilled face.

You and your siblings were always a chorus of believers. Tasks. A task. As easy as if you’d broken your arm as a kid and re-healed it yourself, maybe even easier. Your stories – _one second she was there and then she was just, gone_ – were so believable.

Admit it, eating me was easy. I hope you even choked a little when I went down.

God was as warm as a spring morning, assuring the seven of you that our deaths were inevitable. “Their holy sacrifice lives on,” he said over breakfast one morning, angling his fork to pierce a stray piece of fruit. He looked at us then, you and I, in your perpetually dry body, like someone who tries to drink water without a cup.

“I miss all of them, I do. Pyrrha, Lovejoy, Samael and Anastasia—” here he broke off, as if choking up. Gideon, I could _feel_ you believe him. From wherever I floated, your emotions had not been shuttered to me.

Years passed like this. You could never tell when I’d surfaced, rising from wherever I slumbered in the verminous soup of your mind. Yet whenever I did wake, the visceral feeling of your body, like a plastic tube I’d forced my meat through, nauseated me. You were too tight, too gangly, too weak. 

Those first few times, rising in you was like trying to breathe dirt. _You are horrible_ , I would think as I choked on my own consciousness, my own lack of form. If your last meal came before my death, then mine would come just before life, but a new life. Holding on to this thought, I sunk out of sight for another millennia. You see, it was always my choice to disappear.

When I did rise, I was always so afraid God would see me. See the impossible look of hatred in our eyes, cupped in the aging leather of your face. It took decades to realize he was blind to all of our sibling’s minds.

Decades turned to centuries, centuries to eons, and through it all he never realized that you continued to worship him. You desired him, and that never came from me.

No, God never worried about you, even before all this nonsense. His saint of duty, always so martyred in his desire to serve. I, on the other hand, was always worthy of suspicion.


	2. The first time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pyrrha learns the extent of her control over G1deon's body

The first time was an accident. Cytherea had placed her hand on your arm, a light touch, and I’d rushed to the surface. It was a game to see if I could keep you from flinching away from her probing fingers.

I pressed like a drowning man against the frozen lakebed of your mind, pounded my fists, imagined knives for arms and drove them repeatedly into your shell.

I’m not sure if you understood at first, why your body suddenly resisted. By now you and I were inexorably bound, impossible to disentangle as veins from tendon. Removing me would kill you as surely as if you’d slit your own wrists. However, our symbiotic relationship was not reciprocal.

You began to shake as the sinewed bundle of your arm lay still under her touch, caught in an internal battle of will. Your mandibles, like prying open the mouth of a rabid dog, cracked apart as I wrestled you for control.

Then you just popped out, like eye from socket. One second you were there and the next you were simply gone, and I was in the driver’s seat.

Your tongue, my tongue, lay thick in our jaw. How to speak became a sudden and embarrassing challenge as I desperately tried to use your smallest and most dexterous muscle.

“Cyth,” I grunted. I felt wetness on my chin and realized I hadn’t closed my mouth and was drooling like a lobotomist.

“Uhm, Gideon. Are you okay?”

She was looking at us with a mixture of disgust and slight concern, nothing of Lovejoy’s patience in her stolen eyes.

“Yeah, sorry – sudden headache,” I said, excusing myself from the table. Her hand slid from our arm and the pain hit me like a burn. Every nerve was in sensory overload as I stumbled to my feet, swaying slightly. 

I heaved your wiry limbs like a meat puppeteer, willing them to respond to my loud and hard cues. _Right, left, right._ Better to build you up as a solitary weirdo now, rather than become attached to any of our too keen siblings.

In the hallway I reassessed. The difference was sharp. Suddenly passenger to pilot of a gangling and unwieldy machine left me feeling strangely helpless.

I looked to the domed plex of the windows, taking in the broad expanse of space and trying to mentally stopper the liminal gaps in your mind. Thoughts like putty filled the corrugated and worm-eaten recesses of our shared mental space. I did not want you to return soon.

Outside, stars burst in the lush darkness, like minuscule synapses flickering in and out of life. I could see your face reflected back at me. Your hollowed-out cheeks, your rust-colored hair sheered to the scalp, enervated skin like paper left too long in the sun.

I expected to see green, like the first sight of one’s home planet in the distance. But the homecoming crumped and turned sour as your brown eyes looked back at me.

Gideon, from wherever you now floated in my mind, I knew you were laughing. What a fine trick, to commandeer your mutilated machine of a body, only to have the emergency lights flash the whole time.

That first night, I dragged your corpse to the only place I knew they would not follow. In the training room, shaky and out of breath from the short journey, I flexed and unflexed my hands experimentally.

It felt oddly lonely, occupying a body that had once been strapped for space. Like clothing that was stretched and now hung loose around the wrists.

I wondered again if you were watching, the same way I watched all those years. It was for your sake then, and yours only, that I spoke aloud. I wanted to hear your voice say it.

“It will hurt, and it won’t be easy. But when it’s over, I’ll be the happiest woman alive.”


	3. The Last Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pyrrha rises to the surface, only to find G1deon in a compromising position. She is forced to make a choice.

The second time, I admit, was on purpose. I’d been minding my own business, floating through the murky ether of your consciousness when I felt a sudden chemical kick of pleasure. This woke me up. In all our years together, I’d never felt anything slicken the dried-up husk of your desire.

Floating to the surface I was startled to find you drunk. It was so completely disorienting that I almost gagged. Not that this would have bothered you. For the past half century, I’d been biding my time, fading in and out of consciousness like a leftover cat you’d forgotten needed to be fed.

Your second sister was seated across the table, the apparent object of your newfound lust. Her peach-colored hair reminded me of the exoskeleton of a shellfish: almost too shiny and homogenous to be real, though it was. She smiled kindly at you, as if she was about to relay some bad news.

You set your glass down on the kitchen table, hard enough to shatter, as I began to sharpen my claws against the softened wood of your mind. God was to your left, his fingers experimenting with the buttons on this shirt, and he looked up at the sudden noise.

“Gideon, you look restless,” he said, lubricious smile crinkling the corners of those awful fucking eyes. He stood and came to rest behind where you sat, placing his damp hands on your shoulders. This time I could feel you fighting me, hardening yourself against my continued onslaught.

You stood, chair tipping as your muscles bunched and coiled around each other like a slowly poisoned snake. You made a gurgling attempt to speak as God continued his silent staring. Something about the gaze unnerved me, though I knew our eyes had not yet changed.

Then, like unwrapping butter, the soft cream of God’s body came to press against the back of yours. An involuntary shiver went down your spine, pumping more of the noxious chemical pleasure into our shared blood stream. _Oh, this. Him._

I could feel Gods growing desire pressed hard against your backside, ready for kneeling devotion. “What’s it been, two hundred years? I think we could do with round two,” God said, his hands trailing lower across your hips. I felt you get hard. It was a simultaneously awful and exhilarating feeling. 

As much as I hated you, hated the cage I’d been forced into, I could not help but soften under the novel sensation of pleasure. Your life, so devoid of any pleasant emotions, was in want of indulgence.

I could feel God’s fingers as they continued their exploration of your body, rising under the hem of your shirt and slowly circling your hardened nipples.

At this, we groaned, our head leaning back onto his shoulder as he pressed more firmly against us. In our mind, my hooked nails turned to heavy paws as God pulled the shirt from over our head, turning our body to face his.

His mouth found ours, tongue probing, tasting heavily of alcohol. Across the table, Mercymorn let out a little gasp of delight.

“Augustine, get a look at this.”

We ignored her and instead brought our hands to God’s hair, curling our fingers through the glossy brown. In a loud and sudden move, God lifted us onto the table. Glasses and bottles shattered as he pressed himself between our now open legs.

“Let me ease some of that tension for you,” he growled against our mouth, right hand already finding the button on our pants. The feeling of his hand between our legs, _your_ legs, snapped me awake.

I was not about to be a passenger on round two of the Fucking-God ride. That was the final straw. I booted you out, expurgated you from our mind with one swift and well-placed kick.

“Wait. Not tonight,” I said huskily, half closing my eyes.

_Yuck, not ever._ Seriously, Gideon. You fucked God?

Without so much as a backward glance, I fled from the kitchen, keeping my gaze low. Mercymorn’s rising cry of pleasure just reaching me as I slammed the door closed.


End file.
